i'm fa ll in g into the trap of my grade. loving the thrill along the way but it's naive naive to follow me. do it your way you may fall into the hay. okay, okay. hey do it your way. rumors spread like butter on bread. hard to get out of my head it seems like a boy and a girl can't be friends in these halls, without a story being written for them on the bathroom walls. but no! i'll do it my way. i don't care what they'll say! follow me into the hay. hey do it our way. don't care what they say do it our way. gossip is just static on a broken radio. the louder they talk, the less they know. he asked the question last friday before class a lime green sticky note that set the hallways on fire. suddenly thirty other people own our business. they text the news before the ink on our homework is even dry. they want a reality show, but this is just our life. he asked me to be mine, not theirs. and i said yes. let them talk until their throats run dry. three letters that belong entirely to us. the phones can buzz and fake rumors can spin, but they can't touch the smile on my face. did it our way through the noise and into the hay. my note better get to the correct locker or my friend might need a brand new walker!
bonus poem... i trusted exactly one person. one vault, one lock, one quiet promise whispered against the metal slam of a locker. i thought a secret could stay small. but secrets in these halls have wings. they don't walk; they sprint through the air waves, mutating from a whisper into a crowded broadcast. now I walk into first period, and five heads turn in unison. second period, five pairs of eyes tracking my shoes. third, lunch, fifth and the rest—the same equation. ~five~ people in every single class staring at me like i am the reading assignment.
